


Five Times Clint Said No ... and the One Time He Didn't

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Ship Clint With Everyone [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Saying no, clint's a great guy, long time get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 5 + 1 story of the slow burn that is Clint and Natasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Clint Said No ... and the One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> In my quest to write porn for Clint and every Avenger, I couldn't ignore Natasha despite reading the Ultimates 1610 story line in the comics. To make this work in my head canon, I had to go completely MCU ... there's no comics included at all, just the way they're portrayed in the films.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! With my last Clint/Steve and now this one, that just leaves me Clint/Thor to figure out ... and that's going to take some work.

**_Shanghai, China, December 2001_ **

“I’ll have a caramel apple martini, please.”

The red head said down at the bar next to him, her trim grey business suit perfectly tailored and her pumps just high enough to be sexy. The bartender certainly gave her the once over as he prepared her drink, shaking it vigorously to show off his muscular arms.

A silver clutch purse nudged the side of his drink where she’d laid it, unzipped, a black lipstick case almost falling out. As she sipped her drink, her room key fell out of her pocket and she huffed in annoyance as she pushed back her stool so she could squat down to get it. Eyes on the floor, she gave Clint plenty of time to look through her purse, to find the fake I.D.s that would be there, maybe plant a tracking device, none of which he did. He was Clive Burton, public relations specialist, here to consult with Tanaka International, not a relatively new SHIELD agent on his first assignment.

As she stood up, she bumped his chair, her breast accidentally brushing along his arm. “Excuse me,” she said, climbing back onto her stool. “Sorry about that.”

It was the opening, he knew, for flirting to start; she’d play reserved and not interested, he’d pursue, she’d think about it, he’d press then she’d give in. If he followed her back to her room, she might even actually have sex with him before she took him out, depending upon what she was after, information or just getting rid of the competition.

“No problem.” Knowing the game meant not playing it; Clint kept his eyes on his drink, sliding over just a bit to avoid further contact, letting her make the next move. She waited a few more sips until opportunity presented itself with an Asian business man who sidled up and struck up a conversation, angling for the same thing she appeared to be offering Clint. He listened to the stilted conversation, impressed by the way she not only extricated herself from the come-on but also dangled tidbits that painted her as a lonely American woman who just wanted to talk about home with someone who understood.

Her would-be suitor got the message and left. With another sigh, she turned back around and murmured, “At least he was polite about it.”

Another opening and this time Clint replied. “Be careful leaving though. The big guy at the end of the bar is too interested for his own good.” He specifically picked one of the thugs hired by his mark to point out.

When she met his eyes, there was a little hint of something more than feigned interest. “Thanks. I’ll watch out for him.” She smiled, back in character. “I’m Natalie, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you Natalie,” Clint said, catching his handler walking in the main door.  He pushed back from the bar and dropped some money for a tip by his half-empty glass. “I hope you have a good evening.”

“Oh, yes, you too.” She didn’t sputter but her eyebrows went up and she tracked him as he crossed the room and put his hand on Coulson’s waist, leaning in to give him a buss on the cheek as if they were lovers to throw her off. If nothing else came of this mission, Clint could check that off his bucket list … turning down the Black Widow and living to talk about it.

**_Marrakesh, May 2003_ **

He woke with a hand at his throat, a heavy weight pinning him down. Straddling him, she had her fingers on a pulse point, ready to cut off the flow of oxygen to his brain. Long tendrils of red curls brushed his cheeks as she leaned over, eyes shining in the dark.

“Nice to see you too,” he said in a raspy voice.

“Where’s the package?” Harder than the last time they met, more determined, she pressed enough to bring her point home. “I need it.”

“Sorry.” Clint coughed. “Don’t have it.”

Green eyes stared into his then she sat up, keeping her fingers ready. “Shit. You don’t, do you?”

That was a rhetorical question, Clint knew. He’d been tracking the file all the way from Georgia to the buyer here and still hadn’t been able to lay a hand on it despite a whole back up team of agents at his disposal and the best handler whispering in his ear.

“You’re bleeding.” Eyes growing accustomed to the dim light, he could see the stain on her shoulder. “I’ve got supplies. Let me help you.”

“Why?” She bit back a sharp response. “Your kind wants to kill me.”

“Well, yeah, you are the Black Widow. But right now, you’re bleeding on my sheets.” He was surprised when she swung off of him and sat in a chair by the bed, letting him get up. Glad he’d worn his underwear to bed, he pulled the med kit from his bag and knelt down on the floor between her legs.

With a hiss, she pulled off the tight black shirt, revealing a lacy black bra that didn’t hide the rosy aureoles of her breasts or the hard pink of her nipple. Forcing his eyes away from the creamy skin and seductive curve, Clint focused instead on the angry red slash where a knife had gone in, gently cleaning the wound with a swab strip and then fastening it together with butterfly bandages.  The whole time she was silent, her even breaths making her chest rise and fall; it was harder and harder not to look or brush against her as he finished up, but he knew this was just another play in their ongoing game.

“We could work together. Find it. You can have the data and I’ll take the reward. I’m sure we can come to a mutually satisfying arrangement.” Her knee grazed his hip and her hand caressed his bare chest. There was nothing to be done about his cock which stirred and started to harden, obvious beneath the thin cotton of his briefs.

“We could.” He leaned further, smelled the rain in her hair and a faint hint of strawberries. “Would you kill me before I was inside you or would you let me come first?”

“Depends on how much I like you,” she answered, her lips along the shell of Clint’s ear.

Pulling away, Clint stood; she pointedly looked at his hardened cock before her eyes slid back up to his face. “If you get in my way, I’ll kill you.”

“Then we understand each other.” He offered her his hand but she gracefully unfolded herself and stepped away.

“One day, one of us will be the target.” The black shirt went back on and she reached for the window sash.

“True.” Clint agreed to her back as she disappeared into the night. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t the one who got that particular kill order.

**_Upstate New York, SHIELD training facility, September 2006_ **

She was in his little twin bed when he dragged his aching body back to his assigned room, hair spread out on the white pillowcase, creamy expanse of skin and patch of red curls between her legs. The smile was pure seduction and Clint’s cock responded as if she hadn’t just wiped the floor with him during training.  He let his eyes rove over that body, the muscles and the curves, not denying that he wanted her.

Balling up his wet towel, he chucked it into the laundry hamper by the bathroom door. “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer she’d give.

“Come here, Clint.” She practically purred, patting the bed as she shifted her thighs, giving him a tantalizing little glimpse between them. “We’ll be good together.”

Every man on base was just as turned on by her as they were terrified of her. The Black Widow, assassin, seductress, brand new SHIELD recruit, talked in by Hawkeye and Coulson. Already the whispers were starting, how Clint fucked her into coming out of the cold or maybe that was the other way around, depending upon who was telling the story. It was only a matter of time before she showed up here to put truth to the rumor.

“We probably would,” Clint agreed, sitting down in the old wooden chair by the tiny desk. “But I’m going to have to say no.”

Those eyebrows again, surprised and unnerved. One thing Clint had learned about her; she didn’t like it when people did the unexpected. “Why? I know you’re not gay.”

“Because I don’t traffic in women, okay? This is a thank you fuck and you don’t owe me a damn thing. If we ever sleep together, it will be because you want to, not because you think you should or everyone thinks we are.” Clint was serious about this regardless of what his cock wanted. He could damn well control the baser part of his nature; he’d spent years learning to so he wouldn’t be like his father.

She sat up and picked up a pile of clothes on the floor, dressing herself. No more sexy moves or sultry glances, she was all business now, perfunctory and quick. “I don’t understand you, Clint Barton. Three times now you’ve turned down what I offered.”

“Yeah, strange, I know.” He pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of the bottom drawer and two tumblers; pouring a good finger of whiskey in each he offered her one when she was clothed. “Want to tell me how you do that thing where you disarmed Hill? That was cool.”

**_Budapest, Hungary, February 2010_ **

He hurt. Every inch of his body it seemed like was bruised and battered. At least there was only the one gunshot wound … just a graze really after it had stopped pouring blood down his arm … and the two shallow knife wounds. Phil was much worse off, shot in the lower leg and stabbed in the upper back, missing his heart, thank fuck, and not deep enough to collapse his lung. The man was currently high as a kite on SHIELD’s patented morphine mixture, issuing orders right up until he passed out, leaving Clint and Natasha at the safe house until transport could safely arrive to get them the hell out of there.

The hot shower felt good despite the aches and pains; wrapping a towel around his waist, Clint padded down the hallway to grab the only clean pair of underwear he had left. His uniform was soaking wet and covered in blood and other matter he didn’t want to think about; while he’d been in the bathroom, Natasha must have gathered up all of their things to throw in the tiny washer dryer combo.

She brushed past him, nothing but her underwear and bra on, marks already appearing on her skin. If she held true to form, she’d be in the shower until the hot water ran out; Clint had made sure to leave her plenty or he’d never hear the end of it. Completely unfazed by his partial nudity, he swung through the second bedroom to check on Phil who was still sleeping, propped up on pillows. Then he found the empty double bed, throwing himself down on his stomach with a creaking of springs.

“You started without me.” Natasha nudged him over and he grunted, two-thirds asleep but she hit a bruise and he woke up enough to squint at her in the dim light.

“That hurts,” he mumbled in complaint. She poked him again then leaned over to kiss the spot.

“I’m not playing Indiana Jones with you.” Her fingers stroked along Clint’s back, edging around the worst of the damage. Little trails of warmth both soothed and stirred him. Her breath coasted over his shoulder where she’d tucked her head, and he began to harden despite his wounds. The years had been good to them, brought them closer as friends and team mates, and engendered trust of a kind Clint had never known. Family, the three of them, not just a fighting unit. He’d never have survived the last twenty-four hours without her and Phil. And that was the problem. There was no doubt he still wanted her, but how would sex change things? The ultimate level of intimacy. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of giving her what she deserved.

“Tasha.” He turned his head to look into her amazing green eyes. The truth was writ there large and easy to read. She knew.

“Get some sleep,” she said, kissing his cheek. “I’ll keep an ear out for Coulson.”

**_Stark Tower, New York, May 2012_ **

He shook, muscles clenching, body vibrating randomly, out of his control. Images flowed behind his eyes, names and faces and glassy dead stares of those he’d killed. First and foremost, seared on his lids, was the body of Phil Coulson, slumped against the wall of the Helicarrier. He couldn’t wipe it away, couldn’t run fast enough. He’d tried, stealing one of Stark’s bikes and driving like a bat out of hell. He couldn’t drink it away. The bottom of the bottle only opened the doorway to the world of weird where Phil asked him to come get him. Pain didn’t work – barroom brawls only took away the memories for a short time – and neither did mindless sex. Not that he deserved any reprieve … he’d killed one of his family.

“Enough.” Natasha pushed him down into the bed and crawled in with him. He didn’t fight when she wound her body around his, just burrowed his nose into her hair.  The familiar scent, so Natasha, was theonly thing that seemed to drive back the cold blue ice and settle his troubled soul. He breathed it in and pressed his mouth to her skin; she tasted of fire and summer beneath his lips.  Arms came around her and hands spread along the curve of her back. She tilted his chin up and the kiss was like coming home, so good and so sweet. Something he’d wanted forever, comfort and heat together.

And he couldn’t do it. The sobs shook him as he tried to keep them inside. “I’m so fucked up,” he managed to get out, but he couldn’t look at her not when she’d offered yet again. “Tasha, I’m not okay.”

“I know, Clint. I know.”

She held him as he cried himself into exhaustion.

**_Stark Tower, New York, September 2012_ **

“You know I’d never give you unsolicited advice.”

Clint snorted into his glass full of expensive scotch. “Seriously? You’ve been giving me advice since day one. ‘SHIELD will be good for you,’ you said. ‘Trust your instincts,’ you said. ‘Stop being such a little shit,” you said.”

Phil Coulson, recently back from the dead thanks to Asgardian magic and some other alien technology, didn’t even bat an eyelash at Clint’s snarky tone. “Being dead taught me a few things, but the most important was to not let doubt hold you back from what you want.”

Out on the dance floor, Natasha had let Darcy talk her into joining the others as they gyrated in time to the classic rock music blasting in the club Tony had rented out. This little party was to celebrate Tony and Pepper’s decision to not get married, opting to live together forever instead, but Phil’s abrupt return meant adding his name to the massive cake, a little agent figure next to the Iron Man and red-head in heels.

“Oh, you mean like you’ve talked to the object of your affection?” Clint couldn’t help but poke back. There was the strangest feeling in his gut, and he was pretty sure it was happiness. “Pot, kettle, Phil.”

Phil just ignored him and kept going. “Answer me this. Will it feel any different if you keep denying yourself? Or would the regret be much worse than the loss?”

Of course Phil was right. Just looking at her, the way her little black dress hugged her curves, Clint knew the truth. If tomorrow never came for them, doing nothing would be much worse. Still he’d turned her down so many times before that now he didn’t know what she’d say.

“Come on you two!” Darcy sashayed over in her tight sequined skirt and filmy blouse that was unbuttoned to see the swell of her breasts beneath the matching tank top. “Everyone else is dancing. Even Steve. So you must not be drunk enough.”

“Sorry, Darce, but dancing isn’t something I …” Clint started to object, but Darcy’s hand was very firm on his wrist and she was damn stronger than she looked. If he fought, he’d look even sillier than he did dancing, so he let her yank him into the crowd where Thor swept him around in an enthusiastic twirl before spinning him towards the others. Then Natasha’s hands were on his waist, body behind him, and laughter in his ears as she helped him find the beat of the music. Darcy’s hair bounced in his face as she bopped her whole body by him, punching him in the arm as she dragged Phil along with her.

So he danced with everyone and no one, stopped to take a shot of ice cold vodka, the good stuff approved by Natasha, danced some more, had another shot or two, and, at some point, realized he was enjoying himself. He’d lost his jacket and Jane had decided all the men needed to unbutton their shirts, so there was a lot of sweaty male skin on display.  At a point, he was processing things in flashes – Pepper slow dancing with Phil, her eyes red-rimmed with happy tears, Tony teaching Thor how to disco to “Saturday Night Fever,” Jane and Bruce with their heads together over a series of cocktail napkins that held increasingly complex mathematical formulas – then his world narrowed down to the twin points of contact, a pair of feminine hands bringing their bodies into sync, slow circles of hip to hip, the brush of full breasts and hard nipples against his chest, so arousing and so familiar.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she turned her head up and their eyes met. One arched eyebrow, the slightest upturn of one corner of her perfect pink lips and she gave him her answer in the way she circled him, turning the dancing into some more sexual, a kind of foreplay. The song was one of those dance hits they played on the radio endlessly until the next one became popular – something about whispering in your ear, getting drunk on the thought of you naked – but the words didn’t register, just the sinuous way they moved together in harmony, music become the beat of his heart in his throat and his gut, the long banked coals of his desire simmering to life.

The song wound to a close and his brain could only think of how to extricate her from the others, get back to the Tower, did he have anything in his drawer, did he even make up his bed and did he really care about that. They were already drawing attention – Thor had smiled and Pepper hid her grin from Tony when she saw them – and he didn’t want to make a scene.

The answer came from an unlikely source.

“Ouch!” Darcy stumbled against him and he caught her without thinking. She put all her weight on the one foot. “I think I twisted my ankle, damn it!”

Clint carried her off the floor, a trail of concerned Avengers behind him. Everyone looked at Bruce who sighed and said, “I’m not that kind of doctor!” but bent down and looked at it anyway. Darcy jumped when he pushed his fingers around the joint, and then she sighed loudly, every bit the center of attention.

“Well, shit. Look, don’t let me spoil the fun. I’ll just catch a cab back and be fine. No problem. I can hobble out on my own. You go back to dancing. That’s an order.” She made little shooing motions with her hands, tried to stand, then sank back down.

“I’ll take you,” Clint offered. He was the one still standing behind her and a plan was forming in his mind.

“Like I’m trusting my life to you, Clint Barton? I’ve seen you jump off buildings.” She scrunched up her nose and shook her head.

“We’ll both go,” Natasha offered. The heat exchanged in her gaze was enough to set Clint on fire.

“Are you sure?” Jane asked. “Thor could fly her back …”

“Really, Jane. I’ll be fine with these two assassins. No prob. You go back to hunky space boyfriend.” Darcy stared at her friend who still didn’t seem to get the message.

“But I can …” Jane started. This time it was Thor who cut her off.

“Darcy is in good hands,” he argued. If he winked at Clint, well, Clint pretended to ignore him.

They opted for a taxi; Natasha could always get one with the slightest wave of her hand. Darcy insisted on the front seat because, she said, there was more room for her leg to stretch out. The alcohol made everything surreal, Darcy’s flow of conversation washing over him without registering in the dark of the back seat. His senses were overwhelmed by Natasha’s nearness, the little grazes of touch, and the intoxicating scent of her perfume. Waiting became possibilities, long erotic laced moments of anticipation. Her fingers traced the outer seam of his jeans as Darcy talked about her last boyfriend. The gentle bump of shoulders, a slide of knee to knee, and electric contact of her bare foot on his ankle were precursors to what was to come.

Helping Darcy to the elevator didn’t stop him from watching the way Natasha walked across the tile of the private entrance, the sway of her hips minimal, not her come hither stride, but much sexier because it was just her and nothing more. On a rant about Jane’s need to ‘put a ring on it’ with Thor, Darcy seemed oblivious to the tension, her words never stopping even as they exited on her floor and Jarvis opened the door to her room. Depositing her on the couch, Clint grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as Natasha ducked in the bathroom, emerging with a bottle of ibuprofen and an ace bandage. The way Darcy flexed her foot as Natasha wrapped it didn’t escape Clint’s notice, and neither did her quick eyelid droop. Faker, that’s what she was. Between Phil and Thor and now Darcy, everyone was playing matchmaker.

Then it was just them, a few steps to the stairs and two floors up to their rooms. They did it without speaking, a fast patter of feet on the concrete as they climbed. A few more steps and they were at Natasha’s door and the moment had arrived, the point of no return.

“If you’re going to say no …” She paused with her hand just short of the biometric lock.

Rather than answer, he reached around her and pressed his palm on the pad, opening the door and pushing it back. “I’m done with that.”

“Thank God.”

The door shut behind them and Natasha yanked him by the collar, her mouth claiming his in a kiss that was searing. It burned in his gut and he was clutching at her waist, pressing her body to his as if he could drag her into his heart by sheer will alone. His back hit the entryway wall as she took a breath then dived back into his mouth. Clothes had to give way; he needed to feel skin against skin to make up for all the lost and wasted time. She got his shirt untucked and pulled it partially off his shoulders so she could bite her way down the line of muscle from the jaw to the collarbone. He tugged down the straps of her dress, scooping his hands under her breasts and pushing fabric below the firm curves, dragging his thumbs across the sensitive nipples. A gasp broke from her lips and gave him his opening to whip her around and change their positions, pinning her with his heavier weight and sucking little divots of skin on her neck and chest as he chased his goal, the softness of breast in his mouth, teeth grazing the hard pebbles.  

“God, Clint,” she muttered. Natasha had his pants unbuckled and unzipped, down around his thighs in seconds, and the feel of her smooth palm against his cock blanked Clint’s mind from anything but his driving need to be inside her right this second. Rucking up her skirt, he hooked his thumbs under the elastic of her silky red underwear and she wiggled to help kick them off. In his hazy brain, a thought managed to emerge and he pushed back.

“I don’t have … wasn’t expecting …” he babbled.

A string of five packets pressed into his hand. “Here,” she said, ripping the top one open, leaving him the rest to drop on the floor. Before he could blink, she rolled it down over his very hard cock; part of him wanted to savor it, wanted her stroke him for hours, drag it out, tease him until he broke down and begged. But that wasn’t going to happen. This was a headlong rush to climax, years of denial too much to slow down.

He lifted her up, his hands perfect along the curve of her ass as she wrapped her legs around him. There was no stopping as the head of his cock nudged against her; he could feel how wet she was, how ready, and, in one hard thrust, he was home. Her warmth wrapped him and her thighs clenched, keeping him inside as her tongue delved into his mouth, a mirror of his invasion of her body. She shuddered, shifted which he took his cue to move, thrusting again … and he was lost. Pulsing into the tight heat then pulling back out, he grabbed her hands, pinned her wrists against the wall, and let go. They rode the wave together, loud moans from both, the kiss breaking when they had to suck in air to keep going. Pleasure hovered just outside his grasp; her little groans weren’t enough to satisfy him. He moved both of her wrists into one hand and worked his free hand between them, parting her and finding the engorged clitoris with his fingers, stroking it roughly.

She shattered, head back, throat bared for the taking, completely vulnerable as she clenched around him. This woman, capable and strong, was giving him everything, her body and so much more. He buried his head in the curve of her neck and tumbled into his own climax, coming hard and fast, edges of his vision blurring as his own satisfaction came seconds after hers.

“I can …” he breathed in and calmed his racing heart “… I can do slow too. I meant to, but …”

Still inside of her, the chuckle carried over into his gut as she opened her eyes and smiled at him. “That was a long time in the making.”

They extricated themselves; she straightened her dress, tugging the bottom hem down, and stepping out of the heels she was still wearing. He started to peel the condom off and realized it was bright red.

“Where did you get this?” He asked, tossing it in the garbage and picking up the extras to read the packaging. “Strawberry glow-in-the-dark?”

“Darcy’s medicine cabinet. It was that or a dicey one called liquid heat.” Her fingers circled his wrist and stopped him from tucking himself away. “No need. I’ve got plans for you. May as well just take them off.”

“Oh, really?” The burn wasn’t gone; it flared back to life and his spent cock stirred a tiny bit.

“There’s quite a list. The two assassins assigned to kill each other scenario. The dangerous operative in the middle of the night. But first, I’m going to take you to bed and ride you until the only word you know is my name.” That smile, the one only he ever saw, cut right into him.

“Nat.” The nickname and the emotion it carried laid his heart bare.

“I just might have to keep you forever,” she said, and she wasn’t joking.

“You already have me.” He took the hand she held out. “Always have.”

 


End file.
